


What We Did Become

by Thatkindoffangirl



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Breathplay, Cheating, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, implied big boss/kaz, implied big boss/ocelot, kaz has new mechanical limbs, one ableist slur, thanks huey for your contribution to two-handed pornography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindoffangirl/pseuds/Thatkindoffangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"[Ocelot] was a very contained person usually. Not a serious one, but still not one to let any emotion through. He was never angry, happy, scared, or at least never appearing to be. There were always layers. One after the other, carefully stacked to avoid revealing anything beneath. Ocelot had been raised as a spy—that’s what Snake had told Kaz—and he couldn’t help living as one. It would have been easy for him to be that and nothing else, a slimy tool taking the shape of its container. And maybe he would have been if it hadn’t been for two things: the first one was Snake—precious, almighty John—the only person who could, when Ocelot thought no one else was looking, make him smile like a normal person; the second was pain."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Did Become

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whimsical_ramblings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsical_ramblings/gifts).



> Gifting this to Allison because I can't write breath-play without thinking of her every single second I'm typing.

Kaz had left the door unlocked. He hadn’t forgotten about it (thought that’s what he would have said if Ocelot had asked), but at the last second his hand had pulled away from the lock and back into his pocket, fidgeting with the handcuffs they had stolen from the brig.

He didn’t know why he had stopped and he had no need to ask himself.

Ocelot had stopped caring about Kaz the moment they had stepped into the room. He stood in the doorway, sucking on his lower lip as he stared at the half-lit studio, Snake’s desk sitting at the center. On top of it the procurement files Kaz had asked him to review were meticulously stacked, and his war books collection aligned in a orderly fashion only ever achieved when Snake was out on a mission. More often though guests were likely to find half of them strewn on the floor, where Snake would leave them after indulging in his habit of simultaneously reading and doing pushups. He never listened to anyone complain about the mess.

However it didn’t mean that people had stopped trying, or at least the ones who were crazy enough to argue with him. Ocelot in particular had taken upon himself to sneak into the office whenever he could, emptying trash cans, cleaning ashtrays, and making sure everything was as neat and tidy as his obsessive personality needed it to be. It had gotten so bad lately that Kaz now wondered whether Ocelot was more bothered at the thought of the mess than at the reality of cheating in his lover’s own office.

Kaz, however, didn't care. The first rule of cheating was no talking and no personal feelings, and he upheld it with such religious devotion it had surprised even himself when the words had come out of his mouth much later:

“You know,” he said, the metallic palm of his newly-installed arm pushing against Ocelot’s throat. “He _really_ isn’t that bad at sex.”

Had Ocelot’s hands been free, his response would have been very different. Instead he threw Kaz a surly glare, his eyebrows scrunching together as he lowered his head to look him directly in the eyes, only to find a thumb pierce the bottom of his jaw in place. The handcuffs rattled behind his back. He groaned.

Kaz smirked. He was lounging comfortably, elbow on the desk and legs dangling relaxed over its edge. The knot on his tie had been loosened slightly to allow for easier breathing, his sunglasses safely pinned to the opening of his waistcoat.

On top of him, Ocelot knelt straddling his waist, his back locked tight as Kaz held him in place with one hand on his neck and the other on his erection. His cheeks, already red from air deprivation, had grown even brighter with arousal and now matched the scarf loosely looped around his neckline. The strands of hair escaping from his ponytail—he always wore one when he had sex—clung to his face and neck, soaked in sweat.

There was no doubting who the one in control was. Even without the cuffs securing his hands behind him, it would have been almost impossible for Ocelot to escape.

“Didn’t he tell you we’ve been together?” Kaz asked, laughing as Ocelot lunged toward him in a sudden attempt to shut him up by slamming his back against the solid wood. His skin creased around Kaz’s fingers as he fought against the grip on his neck. Excruciating developing time aside—Huey had given boringly painstaking details of how much harder a mechanical prosthesis going all the way to the shoulder was to develop—that arm sure was a marvellous tool.

“Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago,” Kaz said as Ocelot continued to struggle. Keeping his hold steady he ran his thumb, his other one, over the line at the head of Ocelot’s cock.

Ocelot flinched. As Kaz’s whole hand moved back to stroke his erection, his back clenched again just to relax shortly thereafter, the blue of his eyes lost behind his eyelids.

Only then Kaz lowered his mechanical thumb and released Ocelot’s jaw, chuckling.

“The Boss is not the kind of man to step so low as to _cheat_.”

Ocelot thrusted against him again, his now free jaw biting the empty air as he growled in rage. All he managed however, was to choke himself harder on the hand still gripping him.

Kaz idly adjusted his hold. There was no telling how much pressure he was applying. It was hard to feel when he had no sense of touch and impossible to gauge when he still wasn’t used to the mechanical appendage. In the past weeks he had ended up crushing everything from paper cups to radios, and still the other didn’t seem to mind that the same fate could happen to his bones. When Kaz had suggested they agree on a safeword, he had laughed in his face.

“Fuck y—” Ocelot managed before his words were cut off by a deep, loud breath. His chest heaved in pain.

Kaz laughed. It was all the air Ocelot had left and the idiot had wasted it on insults. A trickle of spit was coming down the corner of his mouth, dribbling from his half-opened lips onto his chin onto the metal of the arm.

With his last ounce of strength, Ocelot lifted his head, forcing himself to swallow his saliva back, only to cough all the liquid back out as his throat refused to open under the pressure. As he looked back down at Kaz his eyes were red with exhaustion and Kaz loosened his grip just enough for Ocelot’s lips to stop shaking.

“I’m not judging,” Kaz said eventually. Ocelot inhaled again. The sound of his moaning grew louder and louder, his lungs pushing to absorb as much oxygen as possible. Kaz’s other hand was still pumping his cock, and whether Ocelot was aware of it or not, the hips rubbing against his crotch were moving on their own. “I’m glad to help where I can.”

The chain of the handcuffs clinked behind Ocelot’s back as he pulled on it for support. His eyes were wide with rage and Kaz’s hand tightened once more, making sure there was nothing—no matter how crazy—that the man could try. It was hard to tell at times the lengths that Ocelot was willing to get back at him. The man didn’t care about physical damage; it wasn’t the pain or the lack of air that made him furious. Ocelot hated absolution. He hated being helped. Even more he hated to hear those words coming out of Kaz’s mouth.

“It all makes your cocky attitude so much easier to stand,” Kaz continued as Ocelot’s throat contracted for more air. Tears of effort were forming at the corners of his eyes. “Training recruits with you is almost bearable when I remember what a pain slut you are.”

He released his hold again.

Immediately Ocelot took a deep breath, his pale face regaining a little color as air filled his lungs. Then before he could answer, Kaz’s hand closed once more, startling his mouth shut and forcing air—precious air—out of him in a frustrated groan. Ocelot’s teeth grinded together so hard the noise filled the silence of the room. His hands clutched the chain of the handcuffs once again, in frustration more than pain.

He was a very contained person usually. Not a serious one, but still not one to let any emotion through. He was never angry, happy, scared, or at least never appearing to be. There were always layers. One after the other, carefully stacked to avoid revealing anything beneath. Ocelot had been raised as a spy—that’s what Snake had told Kaz—and he couldn’t help living as one. It would have been easy for him to be that and nothing else, a slimy tool taking the shape of its container. And maybe he would have been if it hadn’t been for two things: the first one was Snake—precious, almighty _John_ —the only person who could, when Ocelot thought no one else was looking, make him smile like a normal person; the second was pain.

“Why don’t you ask _him_ for this?” Kaz said pulling Ocelot down by his neck. Their faces were now so close the heat of Ocelot’s cheeks radiated onto his.

He knew the answer to his question. Pain affected Ocelot in a way he had only glimpsed in others; not sexual and yet very much so. Deep. Personal. Something Snake would have never been able to understand. He could do pain—everyone knew Big Boss could do pain extremely well—but he was uncontrolled, animalistic, and—Kaz had seen it behind his eyes, as he begged and begged for him not to stop—Ocelot was afraid. Afraid to lose control without an anchor; afraid to go so deep within himself the pressure would crush him, leaving him with pieces he didn’t care to put back together.

“You know he’d do anything for you,” he continued. His voice was so sharp, Kaz was afraid he could cut his own throat with it. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “For all of us.”

There was something at the pit of his stomach, something as he looked at Ocelot coming undone on top of him, eyes unfocused and lips parted, that made his metallic arm tingle with the desire of ripping the flesh off the man’s skull. He didn’t know what it was or why it had started now. It wasn’t the fact that Ocelot wouldn’t acknowledge their relationship, or the fact that he refused to even touch him back. It wasn’t even the fact that he was asking him to help him cheat on their boss, one of the few people—the only one, even—he still at times had genuine feelings for.  

“I could teach him how to get you off properly,” he said again. The voice didn’t even sound like his anymore, but Ocelot didn’t seem to notice. “There would be no need for you to cheat on him like this—” he squeezed his eyes shut, his ears buzzing with static. “—we could just do it all together.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Ocelot mouthed in his face.

Kaz laughed. It didn’t make sense. Nothing was making sense. Rage was mounting inside him, choking his breath in much the same way he was with Ocelot.  He clutched the hand on Ocelot’s cock tighter, so tight he would have hurt any other man, laughing louder as Ocelot only got harder in response. Sweat ran down Ocelot’s face. He closed his eyes, avoiding Kaz’s look as he rutted against his hand, the buckle of his undone belt jingling along with their movements. Soon he was moaning—even with Kaz’s hands against his throat; even with his breath ragged and short—his lungs were slowly filling with air again until finally his voice came back to him in a whisper.

“ _John_.”

Kaz snorted. Had he still cared about sex he would have loved getting him off as he thought of someone else. There was a reason he didn’t care that Ocelot was using him, a reason that made no difference whether he got off or not. Kaz wasn’t in this for sex. He was in this because he had control and Ocelot hadn’t, because Ocelot needed him when he didn’t. It was power Kaz craved and power that Ocelot—the only one of them who still had some left, the only one of them who could waste time on his greasy sadomasochistic needs as the world around them burned—was offering. And Kaz was drinking it all up.

“You are pathetic,” he said. Ocelot’s cock jolted in his hands.

“John,” Ocelot moaned again. He pulled himself back up, rutting on Kaz who didn’t stop him, but instead accompanied his movement.  “J—John.”

“I’m not him,” Kaz said. Maybe shouted. “Take responsibility for what you do. Call _my_ name this time.”

Hesitation flashed on Ocelot’s face. Then almost as if the last hour had never been, his expression morphed in his usual assholish expression.

“ _Cripple_?” he asked.  

Kaz didn’t answer. It always came back to insults when Ocelot was cornered. Talking was his territory and Kaz knew better than to enter it. Without a word he stroked Ocelot’s cock again and again, rubbing his thumb against the top of its head, until the man’s eyes closed and his smug expression melted again in pleasure and he was moaning once again—not names, but ragged, broken words— until Ocelot was close, so close, and then—

“Fuck!” Ocelot cursed. He was bent in two, grimacing as if in pain, his cock tingling with the force of his denied orgasm. He looked down at him, frowning. Kaz simply smiled back.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Ocelot asked. “Let me c—!”

His last word died in a moan. Kaz’s hand was moving again. The other pushed against Ocelot’s neck once more too, its touch lighter than it had been so far that day. The tip of the metal thumb trailed along Ocelot’s face, dragging the spit on his chin up and back inside his mouth. Kaz had no sensation of Ocelot’s mouth around his finger, but the metal was getting shinier with saliva and the wet smacking made it sound as if he was sucking on someone else’s cock.

Then suddenly Kaz took everything away again. Ocelot cried out in pain and frustration, growling like an animal as Kaz rubbed his thumb against his lips, barely within reach of his mouth.

“Call my name this time,” Kaz said, and this time he didn’t need to shout.

Ocelot’s muscles tensed, then slowly relaxed again—no, not relaxed, Kaz thought, _surrendered_. He nodded slightly, giving Kaz the cue to move his hand again, but Kaz didn’t oblige. There would have been no numbing humiliation with pleasure.

“Kaz,” Ocelot said eventually, knowing Kaz wouldn’t move first. His voice was so flat they could have been discussing tomorrow’s training.

Kaz began lazily moving his hand once more, barely getting Ocelot’s cock hard again before stopping.

Ocelot groaned.

“Kaz,” he tried again. His lips pressed into a thin line.

Kaz’s hand started moving once more, still painfully slow.

“Kaz—”  Ocelot’s cry was warm this time “—please, Kaz.”

Anger surged in Kaz’s stomach, rising from his crotch, along his legs, and through his whole body as Ocelot called out to him again unprompted. His cheeks burned. His lips were swollen from how deep his teeth had unnoticingly sunk into them. Ocelot’s hips were moving against him, and now Kaz was moving his hand as fast as he could, Ocelot calling for him again. It was like a dam had broken and was now uncontainable. Kaz’s name was coming out of Ocelot’s lips in a mantra, its sound coiling around Kaz’s brain, muddling his thoughts and dragging him down with—

He pushed his palm against Ocelot’s neck, clutching it with all his strength. It was useless. The name, his name, kept ringing in his brain and soon Kaz was fighting not to call back, Ocelot’s name pushing against lips as he forced himself to swallow it back. He was lost, so lost. There was no time to pause and ponder what had happened, what was still happening. Then suddenly his metal hand was cupping his own mouth to drown the sound of his own orgasm while semen ran hot down his other hand. Ocelot, voice finally free, called his name one last time, throwing his head back as he came, his breath so broken he might have as well been crying.

Then all was silent.

Kaz had just closed the last button of Ocelot’s pants when the man, as if waking up from a sudden shock, tumbled off the desk. His spur landed in Kaz’s thighs in the process but he didn’t stop to apologize. He scuttled towards the exit without a word, opening the unlocked door as fast as his still cuffed hands allowed him. Kaz had expected him to slam it behind him, and was sure he would have done so had his hands be free. Sighing, he wrapped his cold, metal hand around his burning face.

His every limb felt so heavy, it was a miracle the desk could even hold him up. He didn’t know what had happened, why he had lost the control he was always flaunting. He didn’t know whether he even truly wanted an answer. There were a lot of things he refused to acknowledge, hidden inside him, creeping in the recesses of his self and waiting for the right moment to swallow him whole. The question, more than if, was when.

_The key to the handcuffs—the only key—burned against his leg, hidden in the safety of his pocket._

One way or another it was all going to end soon.

 

 


End file.
